Taking Names
by KristieConspiracy
Summary: When they make you into their hero, they take away your name. Inquisition spoilers, generally for the Solas romance option.
1. Dear Josephine

_**Taking Names**_

* * *

><p>They take away your name.<p>

That is what the world does, when they make you into their saviour. They take away any identity you ever had. They make you into something _greater_, some force that is above being mortal or flawed or having our own lives. They strip away your face and your name, until all that is left is a race, a gender, and an accomplishment.

Worse still is that they don't stop there. They take it away, and then they shove everything they have made you into in your face.

Who will be grateful in a dozen days, when they've counted the casualties? In a dozen weeks, when the lesser injuries have healed, who will stand and say they saw me on the front lines? In a dozen months, will they even remember that there was a red-haired elf who saved their lives from the Red Templars, the Wardens, the demons, the Venatori, from Corypheus and the end of our world? Or will they repaint it as a force of nature, a whim of the Makers' or Andrastes' or the Elven so-called 'gods'?

Will they take away my face the same they have every other figure in their mythology? Like they did the Hero of Fereldan a decade ago, or the Champion of Kirkwall? Even Morrigan never called him by name, and he was her lover, from what I understand. Varric never names the Champion anything but _Hawke_, but that is not a name any more, is it? It is but another title, a label to paint us in a light that is easier to grasp than whatever our _given names are_. I imagine being _Hawke_ is but a burden to him; the Apostate that slew his friend and sided with the mages and later rent our world in two. No, I take that back; I do not imagine, but I _know_. Being _Lavellan_ is the same.

And this is all without going into the crimes _he_ has committed against me. Luring me into the trap of thinking _I_ was _special_? That I need to be separate from _my people_, from the world, from all my allies and friends, because I made it my responsibility when I seized the orb in the Temple of Sacred Ashes?

How dare _he_. _He_ took his pretty words and _he_ used them to recreate me. And I let him. I know that. I let _him_ take my Vallaslin away, because _he_ told some story of it being a long-ago mark of slavery. That is the truth of it, as I informed Sera: we Dalish cling to our blood writing and claim it as a reminder of our past, but all we succeed in is making ourselves seem the fool in the eyes of the memories we may witness within the Fade. _He_ took away my Vallasin, and now how am I to return to my clan? I would be an outcast. _He_ marked me as being like _him_.

_He_ called me beautiful, and told me what I meant to _him_, but _his _words must have been as much a game for him as the rest of this charade, for _he_ is gone now, and with it, _he_ has taken whatever piece of myself I still had. All for _my damned duty_. And yet he never called me by my name, either. Just Lavellan. Dalish. _Inquisitor_. '_Heart'_.

_Emma uth harel? Emma din-hala ha'mi'ina, latha, ena'an'sala? Emma dineth vir har' vhenan-dala. Emma abelas ar'lana. Emma din tu ma'solas, nuvena 'ma vena nehn. Emma din tu abelas ena sal. 'Ma din-dara ir u in Tera'selahn sule halamshiral._

You once asked me what I planned to do, Josephine Montilyet, when this war was won. Leliana asked the same, and Vivienne, and just about everyone else. Here is my plan: I will be gone for a time. I'll be back eventually, when I've remade myself, or redefined myself, or I know what I am, or who I am, or what I could be.

I don't want sculptures of me. I don't want paintings or portraits or any visual image. I want Varric to tell my story, because he is particularly good at it. But I want him to make me seem like something real. I want him to get Cassandra to help, and Cole.

I want them to remember that Ser Blackwall has been cost so much more than we had a right to claim from him, after all we have wrought to mages and Templars, elves and humans and Qunari and dwarves. I want Sera to be paid for what she has done, but not so much that she believes I agreed to her bribery. I would like Bull to be a general or someone to frighten off those that will oppose your changes, but for the good of Thedas, do _not_ put him in a uniform. Let Cole help people, but do not let him return to what he was before Rhys. Help Cassandra craft the world she envisions, but ensure she works with Leliana and Vivienne, they both have such wonderful ideas, but the world cannot go back to what it was before; with those three on the same side, Thedas can be won. Keep Cullen off lyrium, help Dorian with whatever he requests, and please ensure Varric is no longer imprisoned. I do not need the fate Cassandra lent him plaguing my conscience, whether it benefitted us all or not.

Do look after yourself, Josephine. I could not bear to see your family shatter, or you overwork yourself. There is no need to worry about me, either. I can care for myself.

_Emma then sahlin._

_Ma serannas,  
><em>'Your Inquisitor'

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><p><strong>Word count: <strong>946

**Pairing: **Solas/Lavellan Inquisitor

**A/N: **May be continued, but for now, this is a letter. Approximate translation of the Elvish is:  
><em>1:[Why] Am I always decieved? Am I not in need [deserving] of rest, of love, of a blessing? I am not safe from fear of heart-break. I am sorry [that] I allowed so much arrogance, to wish for myself to find joy. I will not repeat this sorrow [mistake]. I am not to be more alone in Skyhold [lit. 'Place where the Sky is Kept'] until the end of [my] journey.<br>_2: _I am alert now._  
><em>My thanks.<em>

**A/N#2: **Obviously I don't own Dragon Age, that would be the geniuses at Bioware.


	2. Calling Counsel

Josephine Montilyet was pacing. She had been pacing for some time, despite the fact that she was missing the long awaited audience with the young Duke de Montfort, of the Council of Heralds. She was fiddling with her clipboard in a most uncharacteristic fashion, and it wasn't until Cullen found Leliana and brought her into the almost-repaired office that the Antivan ambassador paid any mind to her company.

"Josie?"

The Ambassador let out a tiny, weak whimper before clearing her throat. She did not speak until she was certain she would not stammer: "I had the letter translated. Rather, I had the elvhen within the letter translated to the Common tongue."

"What letter?"

Josephine shot her a vaguely exasperated glare, then passed the clipboard over the desk. The candle had well and truly melted by that point, but the wax had not marred the childlike script. Leliana recognised the bulky, unpractised hand of Inquisitor Lavellan before she remembered the origin of the letter, found at the bedside in the elf womans' quarters. "Of course, _the_ letter," she said, "Josie, you're making Duke de Montfort wait for the audience _you_ requested. I'm not sure that's wise."

"I'm well aware of the importance of the meeting. It pales in comparison to this - alliances are not as vital now. His meeting can wait. But the translation - read the elvish script, Leliana."

Leliana's mouth moved, though she didn't waste her effort on trying to recite the repeating vowel sounds aloud. _Emma uth_... "This means nothing to me, Josie." But a soft brown hand placed the translation over the letter, long fingers tapping it twice before she withdrew her hands. Leliana took her time reading over the translation. Then she paused and went back, starting again, peering closer to the page. Shaking her head, she looked up at her more diplomatic, patient friend - who was wringing her hands out of unfamiliar franticness.

"Does she mean that Solas lied to her? When he left?"

"Oh, Josie, no. She would say _we_ if that were the case. No, believe you'll find that this is more relevant to their falling out, their 'break up', as it were, when Solas dismissed her. I'm not sure what words are exchanged, but she wasn't the same afterwards."

"'Why am I always deceived'," the Ambassador recited the translation, scrawled in the crisp, unfamiliar hand of whoever had written the note - _Trevelyan_, Leliana read at the end of the note, before returning her attention to Josephine's stress. "'Do I not deserve rest, love, blessing? I'm not safe from the fear of heartbreak. I'm sorry that I allowed such arrogance, to wish to find joy. I will not repeat this mistake. I won't be more alone in Skyhold until the end of my journey'. 'I am alert now'. What does it _mean_, Leliana?"

"I'd say she was hurt that our apostate gave her no explanation. He cheated her of her culture, after all -"

"She sounds positively misera - oh!"

Leliana jumped slightly, startled by the exclamation, and instinctively reached for the dagger concealed at her thigh. "_What_?" she asked, voice slightly too sharp.

"Oh, no, she didn't - how could I - _oh_."

"Josephine, finish a sentence, please."

"Lavellan is dead."

"_She's what?_"

"Not _her_," Josephine said, beginning to see the meaning of the heroines' words; _they take away your name._ "The clan. Leliana, clan Lavellan died in that Free Marches town - the one with the 'disease' in the alienage - oh, what was it called? Windsleigh - no, that's further East -"

"Wycombe," Leliana breathed, wincing. She'd seen the Inquisitor early on, and used Josephine to gather information on the only survivor of the Conclave. Stories of exploring the forests for days aside, Lavellan had described nothing but good memories of the Dalish, her family, whether by blood or mere race. There had been no visible reaction when the news of their slaughter had reached Skyhold, the report written in Josephine's deft hand - which of course their leader hadn't been able to read clearly. _That_ was why there'd been no reaction: the elf had not understood. She'd merely nodded and asked for the Denerim report from Cullen. Leliana had thought it an admirable quality, as she knew the costs of distraction after trailing Warden Amell for so long, but this - this was bordering on ridiculous. "Why did we need an _illiterate_ leader?"

"Leliana!"

"It's what she is, Josie: illiterate. Unable to read or write. She needed to be taught both!"

"She could read Common quite well - it's just writing, and she was functionally illiterate, thank you- and since she is - _was_ Dalish, naturally she's not going to need to know it all, not when she's meant to be a huntress."

"Scout, actually."

"_Not the point_. She would never have needed either of those skills if not for us. What have we done to her?"

Leliana clasped her fingers behind her back, raising an eyebrow slightly. Without offering her thoughts, she turned to the window, to peer out at the snow-capped mountains. Josephine, still fretting, trailed after her.

"What do we _do_?"  
>"We do nothing."<p>

"_What_? How can we - if anything happens to her, Leliana, _anything_, it will be my fault!"

Leliana chuckled dismissively, her mind churning as she devised the beginnings of a plan. "She can look after herself, Josie. Try to convince Cullen to side with me if you wish it, but I will not be swayed. He will probably see my point, regardless."

"Leliana -"

"She doesn't need our help. As she points out in the letter, it's our fault she's in the mess."

Josephine couldn't argue with that. When the Spymaster had departed, however, she grit her teeth and threw her clipboard at the wall, where it clattered to the ground, the candle dying against the stone. "Mierda!"

She was staring at the crumbling stone when Cole found her an hour later, as a favour for Ser Blackwall.

"Cold, careless, now gone. _How could I be so blind_?"

She sighed. "Hello, Cole. By all means, come right in."

"Hello, Josephine. I could hear you hurting, and I asked Blackwall if I could help find you. He is on the battlements, watching, waiting, worried."

"Oh. Thank you." Unthinking, she raised a hand and wiped it across her mouth, smearing her lipstick slightly. The spirit - now more human than ever thought possible, thanks to Varric and Solas and the Inquisitor - moved closer to her, too close for her to feel comfortable, and he tilted his head.

"Worried, wilting, Fearing, fighting, fleeing. Where has she gone? Titles take names lost to history, hunting and hindering and helping her, all at once. It ends, it has to, in blood or in fire. Dragon, dying, defeated, dead. Apathetic leader asks all, dismissive and distracted, aloof and isolated. Disappears into darkness, doom no longer dominant. Foreign made familiar: nameless, loveless, joyless, friendless. Private promises punctured by pain: _why her? Why now?_"

The Antivan ambassador heaved a single long sigh, then straightened in an attempt to hold the proper posture for someone of her standing. "Cole, I appreciate your concern - I really do. I think you'll find, however -"

The door crashed open, the heavy wood smashing against the wall. It ought to have splintered, really, given the force applied - it certainly made enough of a racket. The nobles in the hall would have a field day with the gossip, and it would doubtless spread to Val Royeaux by the next sunrise. The woman in the doorway didn't look like she cared, flicking her dark hair out of her eyes as she moved closer, snapping at Josephine,

"_Where did you get this report_?"

Cole drew his daggers, but the translator ignored him, unblinking gaze of Josephine's confused face. "Lady Trevelyan, I assure you -"

"_Where?_"

"I - it's one of the reports from Markham. It's coded, isn't it? Leliana's people were supposed to translate, not you. I must have given you -"

"It's not a cipher - well, it is, but too simple to bother with - anyway - Lady Montilyet, it only makes sense if you translate the Elvish to Tevene and the Tevene to common. Regardless - do you have any idea what this is?"

Josephine stared at the Trevelyan translator, shaking her head. _Of course_ she had no clue, as she did not understand Elvish or Tevene, how could he expect her to?

"Fear, biting, tearing; nerves twitching, twanging, tainted. Monsters making monstrous mess, chaos calling clansmen closer."

"You know!"

Cole shook his head. "But I feel that you are afraid. We can help."

"Help with _what_?" Josephine wondered if this was what listening to Cole was usually like.

"Monsters in Markham, Lady Montilyet."

"There are 'monsters' everywhere, Lady Trevelyan. Markham is not alone. It will be dealt with -"

"_The council is dead_."

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><p><strong>Word count: <strong>1486


End file.
